Suddenly, hands were on her bare shoulders and cool lips brushed the back of her neck, making her shiver. “You look beautiful tonight, my dear.”
She smiled coyly. “We need to get you a bell so you can’t keep sneaking up on me like that.”
Antonio Vasculli spun her around. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Maybe a little.”
“No need to be,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “We’re going to have a nice dinner, do a little dancing”—he pulled her close and whispered smoothly in her ear—“and then I’m going to take you home and make love to you.”
Her breath came in sharp, and she struggled to compose her face before he pulled away. She dropped her head. How do you respond to a statement like that?
Antonio cupped her chin in his hand, and raised her face. “You are exquisite when you blush.” Her lips were parted in surprise, and he pressed his mouth to hers lightly, but with authority. After he had finished kissing her, he led her, his hand on the small of her back, to a table near the dance floor, nodding to the maitre de, who had obviously saved it for them. The musicians were tuning their instruments, and the dance floor shined to a high gleam.
They had barely sat and opened the champagne Vasculli had ordered for them, when her cell phone rang. She dug it out of her purse only to see Phillip’s cell number emblazoned on the screen. She shoved the phone back into her purse. Why was he calling her?
Vasculli leaned back in his chair, watching her speculatively. “Feel free to answer,” he said coolly.
“Oh, it’s nothing important.” She strived to keep the uneasiness out of her voice.
Antonio turned the stem of his champagne flute as it sat on the table, studying her, perhaps trying to judge whether or not it was important to push her. After a moment, it became clear he had decided to let it go. He leaned forward with a smile. “So, what have you been doing with yourself, seeing as you’re no longer employed?”
“Umm…I’ve just been fooling around with my camera a little,” she lied, “trying to improve my technique. If I get some good shots, maybe I can interest an art gallery in them.” She shrugged. Her phone rang again. She snuck a look. Phillip. What could he want?
“Go ahead, answer it.”
“No, I don’t want to interrupt our evening—”
“Nonsense. Besides, it will make me feel better if I have to take a call later.”
“O-okay.” She picked up the phone and turned sideways in her chair as she pushed the button to receive the call. “What do you want?” she hissed through gritted teeth, without preliminaries.
Vasculli leaned back in his chair, sipping champagne and eyeing her steadily.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Her face colored. “Excuse me?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, sitting there sipping champagne with Antonio Vasculli?”
“What business is it of yours?” she snapped angrily, her eyes dancing around the room, searching every male in the vicinity.
“Hope,” Phillip said with irritating calm, “you can either step out to the patio and discuss this with me, or I can come in there and create a scene. Your choice.” His voice sounded so snide, she wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. She looked over her date’s shoulder and saw Phillip standing on the patio outside, which was closed for the evening, in a tux, waving at her animatedly with a huge smile on his face.
She seethed. “You’d just do that too, wouldn’t you?”
“I just would,” he returned lightly.
She snapped the phone shut. “Tony, I am so sorry, but my ex is out on the patio and he promises to make a scene if I don’t come over there and talk to him about whatever it is he feels the need to talk to me about.”
Antonio turned around to stare at Phillip, who waved at him pleasantly. “Are you sure you want to do that? I could just—”
She didn’t want to hear what he could just do. Just off him? Just feed him to the fishes? Just make him a pair of cement waders? “No. This is my problem, and I’ll take care of it. And besides, that would be giving him just what he wants, a scene. I’ll give him five minutes and then get rid of him for good.” She slammed her napkin down on the table and strode purposefully across the room.
“What the hell do you think you are doing calling me when I’m out on a date?”
“Out on a date with Antonio Vasculli? Huh! Did you get tired of your little rock star already? What, not as good as I was in the sack?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t overestimate yourself, Phillip. Chase is…” Fantastic! Phenomenal! Everything I have ever hoped for and more! She wanted to scream her answers at him, but instead she said simply, “THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! I thought I had made that clear!”
He grabbed her arm roughly. “Dammit, Hope! You are my business. You may not be my girl anymore, but I damn well still care about you. I just can’t turn my emotions on and off like a faucet like you apparently can, hopping from bed to bed like some sex-craved whore who can’t get enough of—” She made a move to slap him but he caught her arm, squeezing it painfully. He stared at her, his eyes taking on a mean and calculating tint, ignoring the angry tears that had sprung to hers. “So, where is Hatton anyway? Did you kick him to the curb when he couldn’t satisfy your needs? Or maybe he just couldn’t get it up for you.”
She came at him like a wild cat, and he had to raise his other arm to block her blows. “DON’T…YOU…DARE…TALK…ABOUT…CHASE…THAT…WAY!” She delivered a furious hit with each word, her eyes sparking in the streetlight.
He grabbed her other arm and shook her once, viciously. “Listen, Hope! We don’t have much time.” He gestured with his head toward the restaurant.
She glanced over her shoulder. Vasculli had risen from the table with a look of grim determination.
“Look, I’m sorry I shook you. But I needed to get your attention. Now you can stop trying to pretend Chase Hatton means nothing to you and you’re really here on a date. You’re investigating Vasculli, and let me just tell you, Hope, you’re way out of your league here.”
She was a little stunned from the brutal shaking she had received, but she managed to counter with, “You have no idea what league I’m in, Phillip. No one does. No one ever gave me a shot at The Globe—”
“Is that what this is? An attempt to prove yourself? Hope, you have nothing to prove. You’re a fantastic writer and an even better photographer, anyone can see that.”
She was confused by his change of tactics.
They peeked back and saw Vasculli was nearing the door. “Sweetheart,” he said earnestly, “this man can hurt you. If he even so much as suspects—”
“Phillip,” she interrupted, “I’m a big girl now, and it’s no longer your job to fight my fights for me.”
The door opened and Vasculli stepped out onto the big stone pavers of the patio. “I think you better let go of the lady.”
Phillip peered at her, but she was unmoving in her resolve. He set his jaw and backed away, throwing up his hands. Antonio made a move toward him, but Hope tried to steer her date toward the door.
“Tony, let’s just go finish our meal—”
Before she could say anything further, the Italian man reached out and sucker punched Phillip in the jaw. He stumbled backward and righted himself on the low brick wall surrounding the patio.
“Tony, please…let’s just go and finish our dinner!” she cried desperately, her worried eyes on Phillip.
Phillip had his fists clenched. She had to stop this! He took a step forward but then his eyes flitted over her face. She took the opportunity to mouth, “Please!” as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. For s second Phillip just stood there, his jaw flexing. Then he exchanged one final dark look with Vasculli, turned and left the patio.
For several moments she and Antonio stared after the retreating figure, listening to the sharp sound his heels made as they struck the sidewalk. Finally, Anton
io turned to her as she leaned heavily on his arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No, I don’t feel very good.” She put a hand to her stomach, and the reputed mobster helped her into one of the wrought iron chairs gracing the patio. It was true, her head was still ringing from the violent way Phillip had treated her and nerves were making her feel queasy.
“What do you say we skip the dinner and the dancing, and we’ll just go back to my place, where it’s quiet?” He looked at her meaningfully.
She felt a wave of revulsion. How could he be thinking about that after what she had just been through? She wanted to say screw it all and just hop the first flight to Chase, but if she went back to Antonio Vasculli’s place, she might get an opportunity to snoop around and find information that could incriminate him. Making her decision, she breathed, “That sounds good.”
As they reentered the restaurant to grab her purse, however, the band began to play “Unforgettable.”
“Wait,” Antonio said. “Can we have just one dance before we leave?”
“Certainly.” She smiled. As he led her to the dance floor, she commented, “I have to admit, I haven’t danced in quite some time.”
“What about in the video?” Antonio asked in surprise.
“We were only on the dance floor for about fifteen minutes, and before that, it had been years.”
“But you looked like a real pro.”
“Thank you,” she responded, thinking, that’s only because I was dancing with Chase.
When they reached the middle of the dance floor, he pulled her to him firmly, gazing into her eyes a beat before he began to sway to the music. Her gaze did not flinch. She found being with him was like watching a small animal skitter across a busy highway. Even though you know you might be about to witness a horrible scene, you somehow can’t seem to look away. He was easy to dance with, and she was soon able to follow without even concentrating very hard.
“You’re a beautiful dancer,” she commented.
“Thank you.”
“I love this song. Have you ever seen the video?”
“With the footage of Nat King Cole singing in black and white, and his grown daughter, Natalie, singing along?”
“Yes. That’s one reason I love this song. I mean, what a tribute to her father to be able to sing with him some twenty-five years after his death. Plus, there’s the fact that the music is so beautiful, as are the lyrics.”
Antonio ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. “You are absolutely stunning when you are excited about something.”
She felt her face get hot. He curled a hand under her chin and lifted her face to kiss her. Her insides churned. Although Antonio Vasculli was attractive, it felt wrong to let him kiss her, cheap. Just think about Chase. Pretend you’re kissing Chase.
The song ended and he made a big display out of dipping her as Chase had done at the end of the video. He was too egotistical to notice this dip wasn’t filled with the same kind of heat and passion. He drew Hope up, saying in a commanding way, “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chase was putting his guitar in its case when Hal stuck his head into the living room, which connected Hal’s bedroom to Chase’s in their suite.
“Umm…I’ve got a call for you from Phillip Rutledge.”
He straightened. “Phillip Rutledge?” he repeated, his jaw starting to tighten. “What does he want?”
“I would have gotten rid of him, but this sounded urgent. It’s something about Hope.” Chase noticed the concern in Hal’s eyes. He reached for the receiver.
“Yes.”
“Chase!” Phillip sounded relieved. “Listen, I know the last person you want to talk to right now is me, but please don’t hang up.”
“What do you want?”
“I think Hope is in trouble.”
His expression became serious. “You’ve got my attention.”
“I saw her this evening dining with Antonio Vasculli. She must have overheard Jack talking about him the other day when she was in the office and decided to investigate him on her own—”
“Hold on. Hold on. You’re talking too fast. Who’s Antonio Vasculli?”
“He’s a local crime boss. Okay, ‘reputed’ local crime boss. They’ve never been able to stick anything on him. But I’m telling you, Chase, he’s one scary dude. He’s into money laundering, extortion. You name it, he’s been accused of it. And people have been known to disappear in cases he’s involved in—”
“Where’s Hope now?” Chase interrupted.
“Well, I followed them when they left the restaurant, and he took her to his place on the Upper West Side. I tried to talk to her, tell her this guy is trouble, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
“She damn well better,” he said grimly. After a pause, he added sincerely, “Thanks for calling.”
“You’re welcome. I still love Hope, you know, but I get that she’s in love with you. I just don’t want her to get hurt, is all.”
“Neither do I. I’ll fly out there as soon as possible and talk to her.”
“Good. If you need any information, you can reach me at The Globe or my number is listed. Good night.”
Chase hung up the phone.
“What’s up?”
“Hope may be in trouble. I’m going to have to fly out there.”
“No problem. We’ve got two days off anyway. You want me to call Jeff?”
“I know it’s late. Offer to pay him double. I want to get there as soon as I can.”
“You’ve got it.”
* * *
When the limo pulled up to Antonio Vasculli’s “place” on Riverside Drive, all Hope could do was gape. On the drive over, Antonio had casually mentioned he had recently purchased his residence for thirty million dollars.
On the outside it resembled a city library, constructed of white marble in the French Renaissance jewel box design with bronze grills on the balconies. She was only half-listening to Vasculli’s recount of the history of the house as he led her in, but heard enough to know Samuel Jensen had built the house in 1909, the same architect who’d designed Moulton Hall.
The interior was no less grand than the exterior, and while she was fascinated, she felt the building had more of the feel of a museum than a home, and she couldn’t imagine living there. All in all, she preferred Chase’s understated home and she began to miss him all the more. Antonio gave a quick tour, which still took an hour as they had to cover over 12,000 square feet. They ended up back in the library, where Antonio poured her a snifter of brandy. She kicked off her shoes, her feet aching from all the walking, and curled her feet under her on the couch as they drank.
“I wish I had brought my camera with me. I could probably spend a week in here taking pictures.”
“Well, we’ll just have to see about your coming back to do that.” She could hardly miss the suggestive nature of his comment.
“I could do a coffee table book on Chicago architecture. Get an expert to handle the text, and I’d do the photos. I think I could sell that. It could go into all the tourist spots around town…”
Antonio laughed at her enthusiasm. Without saying a word, he reached over and took the snifter from her hand and set it on the gorgeous black walnut table in front of them, next to his own. She froze as he scooted closer, then put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her in for a kiss. He pulled away, keeping one hand on her neck, and running one hand intimately along her leg and hip. She fought back her fear and revulsion and the urge to cover her breasts as his eyes lingered there before looking deeply into hers.
He said with quiet menace, his grip tightening slightly on the back of her neck, “You know, Hope, I do not share my women.”
A chill ran up her spine. He released her and took another long swallow of brandy. He stood, reaching down to grab her hand and bring her to her feet. “You shivered a moment ago. You must be cold.” He rubbed her arm, and then brought his mouth to her
shoulder, biting her in a painfully sensual way that made it clear he was a dangerous man, and he would be fully in charge of wherever this was to go. “How about we take this upstairs and get under the covers, and I’ll warm you up?”
She fought back the wave of panic. “Do you think I could use the restroom first?”
“Certainly.”
He made a move to show her the way, but she kissed him quickly on the lips to placate him and to reassure him of her intentions of furthering their intimacy. “You just stay here and finish your brandy; I remember where it is.” She smiled seductively. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she was out of sight of the doorway, she scurried down the hall. She had noted earlier his study was conveniently located across from the bathroom. She opened the French doors that led to the study and hurriedly crossed to his desk. She spotted a top drawer on the right with a lock on it. She withdrew a screwdriver from her purse, which she had placed there for just such a contingency, and began to try to pry it open. She was leaving marks in the mahogany desk, but she couldn’t worry about that now.
The wood creaked as she put her weight into the handle of the screwdriver, and then the drawer sprang open. In delighted surprise, she began to rifle through the contents of the drawer, glancing up every now and again to make sure she wouldn’t be discovered. It only took a moment for her to come across exactly what she was looking for, a contract for a new housing project, already signed by Councilman Mulrooney, when she knew for a fact the deadline for bids wasn’t until the middle of next week. Mulrooney was illegally awarding contracts to Vasculli, no doubt for a hefty fee.
She took a small camera out of her purse, and took pictures of the pertinent information. Just as she finished, she heard Antonio’s footsteps on the marble down the hall. She rushed to replace the folder and her tools. She spit-rubbed the scratches until they were hardly visible.
When Antonio walked in, she was sitting in his chair leaning back with her high-heeled shoes crossed on top of his desk. She scrambled to her feet.
“All right, you caught me,” she said sheepishly. She strolled around to the opposite side, trailing her fingers along the edge of the elegant desk as she did so. “I get off a little bit on the feel of power.” She leaned on the desk in front of him, continuing to rub her hands along the edges of the desk. “And this is power!”
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